Hero in Training
by Elentari2112
Summary: A young boy finds himself pulled into a war that surrounds his homeland. Based on GRRM Song of Ice and Fire series, loosely set in the 2nd/3rd books. My first ever fanfic, please let me know if you like it or not!
1. Guess Who?

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This is my first attempt at Fan Fiction. I don't consider myself a very good writer, so I thought I would give it a try and see if all of you nice people would help me out! This story is supposed to be set in the Song of Ice and Fire series, but I haven't read them in quite a while, so forgive me if I forget something crucial to the plot!

Miralia and Darmic are my characters, but the setting belongs to others that deserve the credit.

Like I said, I am testing my writing ability, so helpful advice/ideas/criticism would not hurt my feelings. :)

Please enjoy, I'll try to post again soon.

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Curled up in a large stuffed chair, Darmic rested his head against the glass of the window pane, eyes down. Rain pelted down against the other side of the window, and mostly everywhere else. It had been pouring for two days now, and the young man was developing cabin fever.

At the moment, he was admiring the wood grain of the window sill, the pattern it made from one side to the other. Having already finished his chores for the day, already practiced his letters, and already used up the potential fun in the few toys he owned, his mind despaired at the thought of spending another day inside.

A loud thumping on the door shocked the boy out of his melancholy. In fact, it nearly shocked him right out of his chair. He gasped and held his chest, trying to calm the furious beating of his startled heart.

The banging came again, more insistent. His mother came rushing from the room at the back of the house, where she was folding the linens.

"Aye!" She cried to the knocker, unlocking the wooden door of the home. "I'm-a coming, master."

Darmic stood from his chair and scooted it back into the proper place. Then, he stood off to the right of the door, curious as to who had come to visit in such dreadful weather. All thought of boredom was lost in the excitement and fear that came with a knock at the door.

These were dangerous times, after all, with the King's death and all the fighting that was going on. Though he and his mother had no visible marks of allegiance, it still wouldn't save them from a Lord who took it in his mind that they were traitors to one cause or the other, depending on whose coat of arms he wore and where he was heading. It was all very confusing to Darmic, and he preferred to have no visitors at all, because one could never be certain which side the soldiers would be standing. There was also talk of men that stood on no side but their own, taking advantage of the chaos left by the King's death to raid towns and homes, stealing and killing and doing other unmentionable things as they passed through.

Sure enough, a scraggly bearded Commander stood at the door, with at least a dozen men behind, all soaked through to the skin with rainwater and mud. Darmic decided they may possibly be more miserable than he had been a few moments ago.

Miralia withheld her thoughts on the sudden onset of soldiers, but her mind raced with worries. How would she ever hope to feed and house this many men? The house she and her son lived in was just big enough for them two. With all the heavy rains, she doubted she would have fresh food for herself and Darmic this evening for dinner, let alone for a dozen hungry, drenched soldiers.

"Ah! Y're soaked to the bone, masters, please honor me by dryin' yerselves by my fire." She said amiably, shooting a deadly serious look to her son. He immediately scurried away to fetch more dry firewood without a word passed between them.

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Yay, my first chapter of my first fanfic! More to come, unless you all tell me you hate it... then maybe I'll spare you.

Review pweeze?


	2. Horizon

Oops, I guess I added another OC. 'The Commander' is mine as well, and I suppose the men will become my creation as well. But the setting and the House Names are all someone else's.

I realize the last chapter was pitifully tiny and probably too short to merit any reviews. Honestly, I thought it was a lot when I wrote it, and now I look at it… Yeah, sorry. I'll try to do better with this one.

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Soon the wordless men were drying by a meager, but warm fire. They didn't seem to want to cause the woman and her son any trouble, as they were as polite as war-honed soldiers could be. They spoke little or naught at all, seeming simply content to be out of the rain.

The commander of the small troupe had a large grey wolf on his shield and a grouping of three grey-green trees emblazoned on the chest of his brown leather armor. He spoke softly with Darmic's mother over several minutes while Darmic waited on the men. He helped them remove their armor or brought them water. The situation with the food was going to be difficult, he could tell. As such he offered them none, at least until his mother and the commander were finished speaking.

He noticed his mother looked worried. Sad and worried. The war had taken much from those who were not even truly involved. Whatever it was they were speaking of, it was not good news.

"Are y'sure they would choose no other way, M'lord Tallhart?" The older woman whined softly for a third time. The man simply shook his head.

"They may lose our tracks in the heavy mud, but I know of no other road this way, and they will surely try it." He sounded remorseful, and tired. "Those men… Lannister's men. They know we became detached from the main army and headed this way. My scout spotted them following us two days ago." He sighed, breaking out of his stern soldier's mask for a moment. "They know we are a sheep that is lost from the herd."

Miralia nodded grimly. She certainly couldn't feed these poor souls, but much less could she feed a contingent of Lannister's army. From the rumors they were a good deal less polite, as well.

At this small respite from conversation, Darmic moved up beside his mother, trying to get her attention. She shook the despair from her features as best she could before facing her son, not wanting him to worry unnecessarily.

"Mother," He said, watching Tallhart as he spoke. "Shall I bring out our ale for them?"

"Aye, Darmic. Let's be good hosts." Miralia replied, after a brief pause.

"I insist, lady, that they will survive without ale." The Commander spoke, though he lowered his voice. "The fire was more than hospitable, but, if we could trouble you for a light meal after our long walk in the elements…" He let his sentence drift into silence. He had not wanting to impose on the small family, in truth he hadn't even wanted to knock on the door. But he knew he would have a mini revolt on his hands if he didn't feed them soon. "We would more than appreciate it."

Darmic was set in charge of keeping watch out the windows while his mother went to fetch the last of their salted meat and some dried vegetables hanging in the dank cellar. Rain had started seeped into the walls of the underground room, making it a certainty that the food wouldn't last long anyway, may as well serve it up to the soldiers awaiting her return.

With the imminent arrival of the Lannister men, none of them may be staying much longer. Why leave perfectly good food behind?

It isn't so much that Miralia favored the Lord of the North, but more that she had heard things about the Lannister army that were unsavory to say the least. Things terrible enough that she cared not to test the truth of the rumors. All war was hard, and not all soldiers were honorable, but these even went beyond human decency, if what her neighbors say is to be believed.

Not just that, but she was firmly certain if they came this way, they would most likely take her son with them. He is only eleven, not old enough to be involved with the fighting, in her opinion. But they would find a way to convince him, or just simply take him. She'd been taking cares for weeks to make sure Darmic had plenty to do inside, where he was safe from the eyes of passing scouts. He wasn't ready.

Thankfully, these northmen seemed polite enough. She had been terrified when they had seen Darmic, certain they would take him straight away, but they hadn't. They had only asked for a place to dry off. She knew, of course, they were hiding from someone or other, but they had looked so beraggled and depressed that her sense of hospitality and kindness got the best of her.

She hefted the load of food back through the muddy yard to her house, preparing herself for long hours of worry. If they were indeed on their way, she would have to start packing up as soon as supper was over.

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Whee Chapter 2. Also short. -flail- Uuum. Okay, I'll make you a deal. You don't have to review it until there are enough of these tiny chapters to give you a good idea of how I am writing. That means I better churn out more quick... Eep!

Thank you for reading. I really am trying to make it interesting...


	3. Relaxing

Okay, so this one is longer, sort of. I got lazy and listed the stuff about the soldiers instead of trying to find a way to work their description into the story somehow. Sorry…

Note: I don't own the setting these characters live in or their House Names. But, the characters are my own creation.

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The meal was small, and mostly silent. The men were just happy to have some meat in their bellies, and Miralia was too worried to make small talk. Darmic knew better than to speak unless spoken to, and so he was silent as well.

When they were finished, the hostess opened up her barrels of ale for the men to drink. She had decided she would be leaving with Darmic in the morning, and so it would be best to get rid of anything that could be scavenged by passersby, those that may wear a lion sigil.

Finally, after hours of occupying the house, the soldiers loosened their lips a little. They were relaxed and fed and happy for the first time in quite a while, and so they decided to try and enjoy themselves during this short respite from war. Of course, the ale helped a bit.

Even in their merriment, Tallhart's troupe was as kind and polite as war-kissed men could be. More and more, Miralia was glad she had opened her home to them. It turned out to be one of the better decisions she's made. Not only did they prove to be some of the better men she's ever met, but they had warned her of the possibility of the Lannisters heading her way, and that was a fate she hoped to avoid.

While the men sat by the fire and conversed, Miralia left them to their devices and took her son aside. In their small bedroom, Miralia sat him down on his bed.

"Yer mother's made up her mind, Darmic." She said. "We're to leave with Master Tallhart and his men in the morning."

Darmic stared wide-eyed at her a moment, the sudden news sinking coldly to his stomach. His heart and mind raced with excitement, and with anger. He did not want to leave the only home he'd ever known, much less leave it for the muddy, grueling world outside full of war and goodness knows what else. What if they cannot find another place to live? What if, by some mischance, they fall into the hands of another band of soldiers, as wicked and cruel as the ones now drinking in their parlor were kind and courteous? He had grown rather fond of these soldiers, and had heard tales of others like them. Brave, wonderful men that defended people like himself and his mother. To leave with them would certainly be a treat. Perhaps they would defend them if something terrible happened. Perhaps they would lead them to a place far from the war where they could live as a family again and be safe.

All that, and all he could ask was, "Why?"

Miralia smiled weakly. She knew her son was smart, but he worried too much, just as she did. "Master Tallhart says there are others coming this way, and yer mother fears they may not be so polite as he and his men. I think it best we make ourselves scarce before they arrive. Besides, we haven't any food left to feed these other ones when they get here!" She smiles at her sandy-haired boy, trying desperately to lighten the weight of the situation for him so he doesn't end up putting permanent wrinkles between his eyebrows, as she had as she aged.

Darmic gave her a half smile, more in amusement of his mother's oddness than anything else, but it did make him feel better that she didn't seem to be overly stressed about it. Miralia sighed inwardly, overwhelmed with love for her only son. She was certain that somehow, despite all her failings, he was growing up to be a good boy, and she loved him just as much as she fretted for him. Maybe more.

Suddenly, there was a huge roar of laughter from the main room of the house. Mother and son looked at the door, then at each other. They couldn't help but laugh themselves, because it was the loudest sound they'd heard out of them all day. In their quiet moment together, they had almost forgotten they were out there.

Back in the common room, the men were well into their cups. Except for their leader, who seemed to be contemplating something very serious at the table where they had eaten. He had a still full mug set before him. Both Miralia and Darmic decided to leave him be and went to join the merrymaking by the fire.

"So then, Elias," One man started. Before he could finish, all the others began snickering, excepting the one called Elias. "Why is it you have flowers on your shield, again?"

It seemed Elias was seriously considering throwing his mug, ale and all, at the speaker's head, but paused when he saw the matron of the house move to sit next to the fire with her son.

"As I have said many, _many_ times before, Eric," Elias began tersely, "for the same reason you bear a pis—" He pauses, glancing guiltily at the mother, "Rather angry mare's head on yours."

"Ah yes, but why _flowers_?" This had all the men in stitches for several minutes.

Elias was of house Fenn, whose crest was three water lilies on a purple background. It seems the poor man was endlessly needled about it by his fellows, especially Eric. Eric belonged to house Ryswell. His crest was a horse's head with red eyes and mane, which he seemed to find far manlier than any of the others.

The group of men was as follows:

Maxwell Lake, a dark haired and jovial looking man of about 30 years. His shield was brown with seven large green dots.

Joshua and Trent Mollen, brown haired cousins who look as if they could be brothers. They wore white chest armor with a snow covered tree on a green triangle.

Keaton Marsh, a young and handsome soldier. Very quiet with thoughtful, dark eyes and long dark hair. The Marsh crest on his shield was ten frogs in an upside down pyramid on a yellow background.

Darren Flint was the eldest of the group, even surpassing their Tallhart leader. He looked like a rather bitter man; graying and sour looking, with a hooked nose. He was a Flint from Flint's Finger by the water. His crest is a stone hand on a white 'Y' with grey and black stripes in the background.

Scot Harclay, a rather large fellow. All Harclays came from the Northern Mountains and this one seemed to have grown into a small giant. Harclay's huge shield was blue with a diagonal white stripe. On the stripe were three moons, one waxing, one full, and one waning.

Elias Fenn was young looking and blond, and although at the moment he looked as if he wished imminent harm upon Eric, he seemed good natured and easy to smile when not being teased about his shield.

Eric Ryswell looked like he grew up strong on a ship or a farm, most likely the object of all the women's gossip and affections up north in the Rills.

Their commander, Tobias Tallhart, was in his late-thirties, but he looked much older. His gray eyes showed more than their fair share of stress and worry, but also sharp intellect. It was clear it wasn't his choice to lead, but either accepted the position reluctantly or was thrust into it. So far, though, it looked like he was doing a fair job.

Miralia and Darmic watched as the now boisterous, playful soldiers carried on, forgetting for a few moments their imminent departure.

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Yay Chapter three done. Now that I made a semi-long chapter, could I get a review? Just one? Maybe? Please?


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